A Share of Blame
by DOJ
Summary: It’s not my fault I fell in love with him. No matter what anyone attempts to say, I still stand solidly on the fact that if there is anyone to blame, it’s him. LilyJames


It's not my fault I fell in love with him. No matter what anyone attempts to say, I still stand solidly on the fact that if there is anyone to blame, it's _him._

I'm not even certain how it happened. I'd taken all the necessary precautions to distance myself from him; God knows there was a time when having the two of us in a room together was simply a recipe for disaster. It was Morwenna's idea, actually, the distancing, that is. She said she'd had enough of our bickering to last a life time and, I quote, "As much as I love you Lils, this has to stop." She was right, as Morwenna tends to have a knack for that in an infuriating sort of way. At the rate we were going I'm surprised a Professor hadn't yet had to separate us for fear of student death – or at least severe casualties. So I took Morwenna's advice; I stayed clear from any situation that could possibly warrant an encounter with James Potter.

Alice was the first to notice my sudden anomalous behavior. How I began waking at the crack of dawn to ensure that I'd have long finished breakfast before Potter and his insufferable friends traipsed in. How I steadily avoided the common room, opting instead for the library, knowing fully well that Black had been banned for the rest of his Hogwarts career after being caught by a very flustered Madam Pince in 5th year. (Exactly _what_ he was caught doing has never been fully confirmed, but the majority of the rumors circle around a petite girl of Veela descent who transferred to Beauxbatons shortly after.) Or how I would bar myself in our dormitory on the rare occasions in which Potter dared to venture into my sanctum without his usual posse.

She cornered me one day before Charms, pinning me against the wall in the third floor bathroom (ensuring that no one would overhear us save for that whiny ghost who inhabits the toilet) in a slightly menacing way. It was then that she began interrogating me on my slightly unusual behavior. I believe her exact words were "What the hell is going on, Lily Evans? And don't you dare feed me some pathetic drabble of an excuse, you know good and well I could hex you to Ireland and back again." And she could, too. Alice, along with an impressive vocabulary that seemed to contain quite a good deal of profanity for someone who had such a gentle upbringing as she, was easily the best in our year at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now, I must admit that my excuses are never terrifically clever, but pathetic drabbles? Nonsense. However, Alice had that manic glint in her eye, the same one she gets just before _Riddikulus_-ing a boggart, or vanishing a grindylow, or something of the sort, so I thought it would be best to oblige. Of course, oblige in this sense meant to mumble something incoherently, from which the only word Alice seemed to have understood was "Morwenna".

At that she seemed to loosen her grip on me ever so slightly, shaking her head in what I could only assume was a pitying manner. "Lily, darling, I love you to death, and I know becoming Head Girl has been your dream ever since Kori saved you from Richard and Garfield's tormenting in first year, but for Merlin's sake, Morwenna is not God. Not everything she says is law, you know, you have been bestowed with the gift of thinking for yourself, though you do seem to forget that quite often."

"I do not," I had mumbled, glaring rather vindictively at my supposed best friend. "And it's not because she's Head Girl. It just alleviates quite a bit of stress, is all."

"What does?"

"Avoiding Potter," I blurted, clearly confused. "Isn't that what we're talking about?"

Sadly, most conversations that occur between Alice and myself are about as easy to follow as that was. The girl has a mind that only a highly trained telepath could follow. In other words: not me. Somehow she managed to get our entire potions class to move from the topic of Sherlock Holmes to Amelia Earhart in the span of five minutes; a feat that I am still trying to fathom.

But I digress; hardly any of this seems to pertain to my original point. The point, in case you happened to be wondering, is that it is _not_ my fault that I fell. Hardly. As you can undoubtedly see, I took all the necessary roads to _diverge_ from this unexpected outcome. Clearly, there was some outside force involved, a power beyond my control. Someone who tripped me, forced me to fall. I had absolutely no choice in the matter. When someone sticks their foot out in front of you and you happen to be blissfully unaware at the time, it's rather hard to maintain one's balance.

I perhaps if this had simply been the case; I wouldn't have much to rant on. But I didn't just fall, I _careened_ into someone else. Someone who happened to have quick enough reflexes to catch me rather than let us both tumble to the floor. Someone who happened to wrap their Quidditch-toned arms around me in order to prevent a predictably disastrous (not to mention painful) collision with the carpet of the Gryffindor common room. And really, I couldn't help what happened next. When someone saves you from a journey to the Hospital Wing, the grateful thing to do would be to turn in their arms and offer them a smile and perhaps a word or two of thanks. And can I help it if when I turned around, smile already plastered on my face, I happened to find myself face to face with an extremely concerned Potter? One who offered me the most heart-melting smile in return? I think not.

Now, if my so-called best friend had been there to _warn _me at that moment, this mightn't have happened. So really, it's Alice's fault.

After that I couldn't seem to avoid him. James Potter was _everywhere._ He was sitting beside me in class, adjacent from me at meals, tailing me in the halls, watching me in the library, all because I'd thrown him a bloody smile. All because I'd thought he was someone else. All because Alice hadn't warned me when I'd fallen. All because some stupid prat had tripped me in the common room. Fine, so Alice isn't fully to blame, the prat can share in some of it. Whoever it was never apologized . . . but then again, s/he never laughed either, so there isn't anyway to tell if it was intentional. Alice can have three fourths of the blame, the prat can have the other twenty-five percent.

I'm afraid you may be getting the wrong impression of me. I don't generally go about looking for a scapegoat to pawn the cause of all my problems off on. But this is a special case, and due to recent circumstances, I feel it needs to be known that it is _not_ my fault that I am in love with James Potter. It's Alice's and the prat's. This is my official statement.

Alice is laughing at me now, saying something about me being a loon. I do believe she just read over my shoulder as she claims to be exceedingly curious as to "what the bloody hell" I'm writing about. Not that I mind, as this is my official statement, meaning that someone other than me has to read it. Maybe I'll have her sign this as my witness. Do you need a witness in order to pass a statement off as official?

There I go again, straying from the point. I have a horrible knack for straying off topic like that. And a wild imagination at that, or at least, that's what Alice says. I don't see what's so wild about it, there's always a possibility that the gnomes really are plotting to overthrow Hogwarts.

Hm, I'm beginning to see her point.

Great, Alice can make a point and I, Lily Evans, future Head Girl of Hogwarts, cannot.

_As I was saying_, or writing, rather, it was shortly after that incident in the common room that I began to feel the full effects of my fall. I began to feel Potter's eyes on me, and instead of giving me the same nervous chills they usually do, I felt a pleasant shiver tingle down my spine. After that I would feel my cheeks warm, and I just knew that I was blushing – something that is always unfairly obvious in redheads. I began to realize that I didn't quite mind when he came traipsing into class late, and the only seat open was beside me. I would feel that familiar heat rising whenever he accidentally brushed his arm against mine, and my smile would fall when he whispered "sorry", his breath gently caressing the red of my cheek. And eventually, to my extreme displeasure and, I must admit, confusion, I began to lament that Potter no longer felt the need to ask me to Hogsmeade at every turn.

Though mixed in with that disappointment was a tinge of relief, somewhere inside I knew that if Potter asked me, I would cave and, if I managed to refuse at all, it would be a feeble, trembling response and he would know. And if he knew . . .

But that doesn't matter; none of it really matters in the great scheme of things. I, Lily Evans, from this point forward will put all of this nonsense behind me. I've never been one to follow the clichés, to yearn for a prince to sweep me off my feet, to dwell on the unattainable. I have to regain my focus, my goal, and swooning after an insufferable prat such as James Potter will never aid in my becoming Head Girl. If anything it will simply hinder my goal. In all seriousness, would Dumbledore honestly appoint someone who has the mental capacity to even _think_ about dating Potter to the position of Head Girl? If anything it would only serve to question my sanity. Someone who is loony for Potter obviously cannot be taken seriously, especially one who wastes three pieces of parchment on him.

Alice feels that I need to include that I've actually wasted four pieces on him, one of which is simply covered with doodles of his name.

Bugger, I have lost it, haven't I?

Alice just nudged me in the side, breaking my moment of deep contemplation. I've crossly asked her why she feels the need to intrude in every moment of my life I ever attempt to set aside for myself, but she merely nodded towards the portrait hall.

Oh bugger. Potter's just walked in, from Quidditch practice I might add. Hiss hair's windswept, even more unmanageable than ever, and his cheeks are tinged with pink. Somehow he's managed to get dirt smeared across his face, already shiny from sweat, and I can't help but think he looks absolutely . . . adorable. He's caught my eye, and he waves, and I feel my heart turn over and fall somewhere deep inside my stomach. Oh, bloody hell, I'm hopeless.

Alice prods me sharply in the stomach and I shyly wave back, opening and closing my hand in a harmless gesture, but that gesture is all Potter needs. He's made a slight alteration in his destination, and is now crossing the crowded room, heading towards me. Alice is muttering something about how I need to drop the quill and put the book away. I've just glanced up at James and he does appear a bit confused . . . glancing from me to my notebook and hesitating slightly. Bugger, perhaps I should . . .

Ahem. I, Lily Evans, would like to state that my official declaration was halted by the interference of one Alice Prewett, who irrationally snatched away my notebook at a most inconvenient time, leaving me to gape blankly at one James Potter. It is because of this irresponsible action that James Potter was able to unabashedly plop himself beside me on the couch and teasingly snake his arm around my waist. It is commonly known that when a boy such as James Potter comes in such close proximity to easily intimidated redheads, said redheads tend to lose all concept of self-control and are unable to refuse his tantalizing requests to join him on the next Hogsmeade trip.

Really, can I be blamed for having said yes?

It's not my fault that I'm in love with him. Obviously, it's Alice's, she's clearly been planning this from the start; not warning me when I tripped, stealing my notebook, encouraging my odd behavior around James. It's quite manipulative for a best friend.

But with James' arm wrapped securely around my waist and my head on his shoulder, I can't say that I object. Much.

**A/N:** This was a random take on Lily that I've had floating around my saved documents for awhile. I've added to it sporadically, so I'm sorry if not all o fit seems to make logical sense. I just wanted to try and get inside her head. Not the head of the feisty Lily that we all know and love, but a very confused and in denial Lily, who wants so much to deny her feelings that she can't think straight. I had a lot of fun writing it, I hope you enjoyed it!

Please review and let me know what you thought of it – any thoughts, good or bad, just, no flames, please? Thank you!

--DOJ—

Oh, right, I couldn't remember if Morwenna was actually a character in the books or not, and I was too lazy to check, so . . . I might have meant Marlene through all of this.


End file.
